


Love Through All Odds

by Pandelix



Series: Three Lifetimes of Love [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: 1920s, Alastor Being a Jerk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Angst, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Dancing and Singing, Drinking to Cope, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Light BDSM, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandelix/pseuds/Pandelix
Summary: Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Hazbin Hotel characters, as they belong to Vivziepop and their respective artists. Nor do I own any possible art or media I might use in this story.Warning: there will be blood, Gore, sexual themes and suggestive language in this fic not suitable for kids or teens. Do not read if you are under 18.As a struggling artist and part time writer living in New York City. Surprisingly you end up taking a trip to work in New Orleans for their Tribune to interview a rising radio star. You find yourself becoming acquanted with the well known radio host and eventually fall in love with him. However complications between the two of you and a crisis threatens to tear you two apart. Little did you expect your relationship would last throughout three different lifetimes.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) & Reader, Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Series: Three Lifetimes of Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716721
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	Love Through All Odds

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! This is my second fanfic that I'll be working on alongside my other one, Just Your Name and the Fire. Though this one might end up updating slower, it'll end up being part of a trilogy. Hopefully. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story and let me know what you all think in the comments below! Ciao~

Inside a large office building you currently are seated in your cubicle, typing away on the typewriter as you ignore all the chatter, clicks, and dings reverberating throughout the room. For at least five years now you have been a journalist for the New York City Times. Not once have you moved up the ranks to becoming a full-time journalist no matter how many articles and columns you presented to your boss. Part of you feels as if it was because you were a woman that he never even gave you a chance, but you weren't one to voice your opinions on such controversial subjects. Instead you focused your attention on editing the columns on the latest fashion trends and styles of this year's popular socialites.

Scanning through the papers you see that the columns involve more of the same, nothing new has peaked your interest. It seems the same old celebrities and styles you have grown accustomed to are still worth reporting on in the papers. Sure the first world war ended and everything was pretty normal. But your life was far from exciting. In fact, you felt as though you were struggling. Both as an artist and journalist. You were starting to wonder when you'd finally get your big break, but you doubt it'll ever happen.

Shaking your head, you finish retyping the articles that you marked with red and black ink. You push yourself away from your desk and sigh, hoping that Mr. Weston would not ridicule you for your work for the third time this week.

When you get to his office you notice that there is another man in there through the window. You do not recognize him as one of the journalists or editors that work for the company and find it rather strange. He wasn't hiring any new staff as far as you could recall. Perhaps it was for a business meeting? Hesitantly, you knock on his door gently, not wanting to interrupt whatever was going on behind those closed doors of his.

You watch as Mr. Weston gets up, pulling his office chair away from the desk then pushing it back. The newcomer and him now stare at the entrance to your boss's office. Mr. Weston goes to open the door. He looks down on you, at first a bit agitated, but his gaze softens a bit seeing the papers you had finished editing. Despite him not having confidence in your writing abilities, he did believe you to be an excellent editor and organizer. If only you had studied more in journalism then he would've been even more certain in your capabilities as a journalist for the paper.

"Ah, Ms. L/N, to what do I owe the pleasure, hmm?" Despite you finding him a bit sexist he still always had his employees best interests at heart and could never not be a gentleman toward women.

You find his smile a bit contagious and beam up at him widely, "Well, Mr. Weston, sir, I just finished editing the columns for this week's paper! I thought you'd want to take a look at it before we start the printing process, sir." You giggle, a bit giddy despite the somber mood you were in not too long ago. You hand him the papers and he gently takes them from your hands and brings them to his desk.

While he is examining the edited papers the man who was talking to your boss earlier taps you on the shoulder and introduces himself,

"'Ello, there lass," You hear a slight Scottish accent present in the man's voice, "Pleasure to meet such a fine young lady such as yourself. One of Weston's little workers, I presume?" He holds out his hand for a shake and you oblige.

You shake your head in response to his earlier question then say, "The pleasure is mine, Mr...?" You didn't quite catch his name, but then you realize he didn't state one.

He scratches his head, realizing he had forgotten to give a name, "Just John is fine, lass." He grins as he firmly grasps your hands, shaking it enthusiastically.

"Just John? I'm sorry sir, but I'd doubt my boss would want me to drop the formalities. Especially if you are a business partner of his. That is what you are here for? Some type of meeting?"

He gives a hearty laugh then turns his head towards Mr. Weston who chuckles a bit. "You have quite the busybody and a perceptive young lass working for you, Mr. Weston."

"Indeed I do, Mr. Shaw, indeed I do." He flips through the pages, skimming over them rather quickly. You, for some reason feel slightly embarrassed as a light pink hue dusts over your cheeks.

Your eyes avert the new man's own green orbs that are focused on you. His laughter and chuckling die down as he speaks yet again to you, "So what's your name, lass?" You never did like attention from strangers and could never shake off the anxiety that came with meeting new people. It truly is a wonder how no body had considered you a cancelled stamp yet.

You fail to keep yourself from stuttering, "Y-Y/N, s-sir. My n-name is Y-y/n..." A nervous laugh escapes you as you twirl a strand of hair that fell loose from your bun between your fingers.

"Ah, a fine name for a fine woman, wouldn't you agree, Weston?" Murdoch faces him yet again, his hands on his hips as he happily looks to your boss. He simply hums in acknowledgement as his focus is now completely directed towards your work.

Murdoch rolls his eyes as he turns to look back at you then he snaps his fingers, "I have the perfect idea!"

You look to the Scottish man in confusion as he places his hands on your shoulders, "Ever been to New Orleans, lass?" You shake your head no as you place a finger to your lips trying to piece together the man's thought processes. "Ever wanted to go?"

It takes a moment for you to think on his question. You had only ever heard rumors and interesting stories of that place. More specifically tales of jazz and romance with the streets having a swing club in nearly every corner. The thought of going to such a place excited you. Especially since you are growing tired of the same old surroundings you've grown accustomed to. You still loved New York City, after all you had grown up here most of your life, but you did feel it would be nice for a change of atmosphere and scenery. Finally thinking it through you answer him, sounding a bit quizzical, "Yes...? It does sound like an exciting place to visit, from what I've heard. Why do you ask?"

"Well, miss, our tribune has been trying to recruit new journalists that have a certain affiliation for information gathering and talent in writing," he pauses briefly for a moment, looking to your boss who silently eyes Mr. Shaw, "I have read some prompts and columns of yours on behalf of Mr. Weston here lass, and let me tell you, your work has peaked my interest."

You look at him him suspiciously, "Oh? Has it now?" You truly didn't mean for the question to sound rude, but you really were curious about this strange stranger that travelled thousands of miles upstate just to try and recruit you for a news tribune. "And just who is the man that is standing before me that is recruiting for the press in New Orleans?"

He laughs as he explains, "Lass, I am the head of the New Orleans Tribune, John Shaw. Of course I wouldn't be surprised that you haven't heard of me. My press company had only just started a couple years ago and hasn't really picked up from off the ground quite yet."

"But why would the head of a press company himself come here to recruit new journalists? Why not one of your assistants or employees?"

"Call it a matter of personal interest and business with your boss here, miss L/N. As head of my Tribune, I take immense pride in my company and decide who gets in or who goes out. And like I said before, I have taken a liken to your work, lass."

Chuckling, he walks back over to Mr. Weston who had just finished looking over your proofreads.

He looks up and begins to speak to Mr. Shaw, "I don't know, my good man. She is a valued asset to this company, but she still has much to learn in terms of journalism. Editing and proofreading are her best skills." Your eyes shift to the side as the both of them look at you.

"Come now, old chap, at least give her a chance. I could really use her talents. She'd bring in a monumental amount of buzz in the papers!" As Mr. Shaw rants on, your boss stands up from his chair and walks over to the big window of his office, looking over the city.

He appears to be in contemplation as he pulls out a cigar and lights it. After a few puffs and a moment of silence he turns back to face the both of you,

"Three months, Mr. Shaw. I'll let her work for your company for three months. And if you decide that she is worthy to become a journalist then she can either stay there and work with you or she can come back and earn herself a promotion. Whatever she chooses for herself. However, if not then I want her sent back here and she'll stay in her position as the editor for my press company. Of course I suppose it's only fair that we let her decide if she even wants this opportunity."

As Mr. Weston awaits your response, you bite the bottom of your lip nervously. You are very much excited, of course. Not many opportunities such as this were ever presented in your life. Especially while you are young and in your prime. How many chances like these would you come across in the near future? Probably not many.

Yet, there is a small part of you that is slightly wary of going into uncharted territory. Living in New York City most of your life, you had grown attached to the hustle and bustle of the busy streets and the distinct, familiar culture you have become accustomed to.

But in the back of your mind you know you _would_ like a change of pace. And whose to say that New Orleans wouldn't be any different from this city? It might be similar in some aspects.

With a deep breath you make your decision, exhaling as you explicit it aloud, "Yes."

Then you turn to Mr. Shaw as determination gleams in your eyes, "I'll gladly except your offer, sir. And I certainly won't let you down."

The Irish man laughs a bit, finding your resolution both refreshing and youthful. He pats you on the shoulders gently, as if commending you for your decision.

"Aye, now that's a fine lass," his eyes scrunch up as he beams down at you. Then he looks back up and jests with your boss, "I almost feel sorry for stealing away your little busybody."

Mr. Weston rolls his eyes, a somber expression still lingers on his face, "Yes, yes. Her leave will be _such_ a catastrophe for our printing press."

Normally you'd thought your boss wasn't even the jesting type.

Turns out, you are wrong. You notice his stern frown slightly turn up to a tiny smirk. His eyes also seem to glint slightly at his own sarcastic response.

It surprises you and you almost are about to ask him if he's off his trolley before his mood turns solemn once again. In a somber tone he speaks to you, "And try not to give Mr. Shaw any trouble. The man already has enough on his plate as it is."

Your brows furrow as you look between the two men. Back and forth your gaze shifts from one to the other in slight child like curiosity and confusion.

"Come now ol' friend. You needn't fret over my own problems." Mr. Shaw shakes his head as he pats Mr. Weston on his back.

"You say that now, but I know how much you are really suffering in the economy, my friend. I'm surprised you even managed to last this long with your printing press." He remarks, putting out his cigar in an ashtray on his desk.

You feel a set of hands being placed upon your shoulders belonging to your boss's partner. His laughter echoes within the room then as soon as it dies down he comments, "Which is exactly why I am hiring her for my company. I have no doubt in my mind that this lass is more than capable to be the one to bring my press to success."

"If you are so sure, then I suppose I can't change your mind, can I?" Mr Weston narrows his eyes at both you and Mr. Shaw. Honestly you swear this man has such little faith in you whenever it came to anything but proofreading.

Mr. Shaw responds with a shake of his head, "Aye, no ye cannot, my fellow."

He sighs solemnly then gestures to the door, which then, to your surprise, Mr. Shaw begins to guide you towards it. Mr. Weston opens it before the two of you are guided outside of his office.

Standing before the door you all exited from, your boss bids Mr. Shaw goodbye with a shake of hands and the words, "Good luck, my friend."

"You too, Mr. Weston," he is just about to leave before he looks back as if remembering one more thing he had wanted to say, "Ah, and one more thing. I'll be here sometime tomorrow afternoon to escort you to the station to New Orleans."

Then he left, closing the front door shut the moment his shadow disappeared.

"Ms. L/N." Your boss calls out to you. In reaction you pivot your heels to face him.

Nervously, you chew the inside of your cheek as you fumble with the hem of your sleeves, "Yes sir?"

"Pack your things." He states bluntly with a bemused look.

You tilt your head to the side warily, "Sir?"

Neatly, he folds his hands behind himself and bends down to your height to look you in the eyes, "Mr. Shaw is a good man, however, he is anything but patient and does not like it when people waste his time. I am giving you the rest of the day off to settle down and pack your things for tomorrow's journey. Punctuality is everything after all."

And with that you are left to your own devices as he goes back inside his office to continue his work. With a sigh you take a look at your desk then begin dismantling any personal belongings you had.

The sooner you could get done, the sooner you'd get some sleep to prepare yourself for what lies ahead.

_A new start in New Orleans. . ._ _You nearly chuckle at the thought._

_W_ _ho'd have thought a simple gal like me would have a chance like this?_

You doubt anyone would have thought that, honestly.


End file.
